Candles and Smoke

Today is my birthday.  I've had fifty six of them previously, this is just the next one!  Like most people with as many annual celebrations under their belt I no longer give two hoots about the celebration itself. 

As a child each year I received a birthday card with one dollar. Back then one dollar was paper money and worth so much more than it is today. Chips wrapped in paper cost only 20 cents and a small coke or ice cream was 10 cents. I also received a letter and ten shillings (more paper money) from my English grandparents. The letter always said I could use the money to buy an ice cream. When I was under ten it sounded like good advice but as I added the years my shopping list was replaced with a new selection of wishes.

I don't remember other birthday parties but in 1970 at the age of 13, I was allowed a 'hippy party'.  I was dressed in flower-power flares teamed with a cheesecloth top trimmed with cotton lace and sporting short puffy sleeves! We danced with flowers in our hair and nondescript scarves wrapped around our heads.  My beloved multi coloured flares were eventually snatched from me and demoted to the rag bag.  How I loved those flares!

 

I was married before I was twenty one. Dustin was eighteen months and instead of a party, family and friends visited and stayed to enjoy a drink with a slice of cake made by Merv's delightful Auntie Daisy.  I have continued to successfully avoid parties.  I celebrated 'big birthdays' with trips to Geraldton and other not so grand places. My fiftieth was celebrated on a cruise from Sydney to the South Pacific with Merv and both children.   We had a wonderful time especially the added benefit of warm sunshine in the middle of June. Mel's ongoing sea sickness was the only hiccup.

Merv always tells the story of his grandparents visiting each of their grandchildren on their birthday. It was their family tradition.  My grandparents lived on the other side of the world and our children's grandparents lived too far away for them to visit.  To keep the dream alive it was up to us to make a fuss over our offspring and we did.  There were parties, expensive BIG presents with the wow factor and the cake (of course).  I have baked numeral cakes, humpy dumpty, strawberry shortcake, the list goes on. 

 

Today I shared lunch with a lovely  group of carers.  The group meets each month to gain information on caring and catch up with each other, many of them now friends. I invited big sister.  Thank you for sharing my birthday with me. 

 

On Saturday Mel, Dustin and Grace join us to enjoy home made pizzas and the proverbial cake!  I am happy that we will share a meal and catch up on news.

 

Master Who?

Four nights a week we are the captive audience of MasterChef Australia.  It's about the food and the passion.  It's about the contestant's journey and the scrutiny of the judges.  It's better than watching the home renovating program, which makes me cringe. Home renovation is so much worse than medicine and best avoided at all cost! 
I fantasize of creating a Marco Pierre White gourmet delight in my very own kitchen.  It is unlikely to ever happen.  I am sticking to the tried and true Shepherds Pie and Sausage Hot Pot followed by slightly caramelized pancakes with rustic edges.  A little like burnt offerings.  
Now we are empty nesters our weekly menu is more geared to whatever is in the fridge or pantry but mainly depends on how much energy I have to create.  A tin of soup often come up trumps. 
If the kids give me enough notice they are visiting at meal times I will scour the recipe books aiming for something amazing to create and whip up in my small but efficient kitchen.  Shopping for the ingredients is a major event. I begin with an elaborate list of, 'must haves' and other bits just in case they are needed.  What if they are still hungry? 
Preparation and cooking time are carefully planned and scheduled and then the fun begins.  There are pots, pans, cooking utensils of every description which clutter up the bench tops and overflow on the kitchen table.  There is mess everywhere with no room in the sink and the dishwasher grunting in protest.  Thank goodness for the dishwasher!  The family meal is cooked and ready.  The dishes stacked and the benches cleaned. 
Is it a Heston Blumenthal or even comparable to a Kylie Kwong?  Not likely!  It is just good home cooking with a fancy name fit for the table to show my family I love them.

Our First Chat

Stepping into my party shoes, grabbing my bag, car keys in hand, I am a woman on a mission.  I open my eyes and my dream ends.

I clear the dishes from the table, make the beds and put the washing on.  I have plans for the day but nothing amazing will happen. I will be happy if I don't burn my toasted cheese sandwich.  I look at Merv and smile, just a little smile.  I wonder how many women look at their men after a long marriage and wonder who is this person they see? It is for me.  Thirty eight years ago (is it really that long!) Merv was tall, lean, good looking and had hair. Today he is almost as tall, well rounded and bald.  I daren't look in the mirror, my reflection is anything but pretty, my hair is shorter and a different colour, we won't discuss the sagging skin and wrinkles!

'Life is what you make it,' is a common saying but sometimes life itself just hands you a wildcard.  Merv's father was diagnosed with Huntington's Disease in 1994.  Merv was tested shortly afterwards as we have two children, both of them were teenagers at the time. Merv tested HD positive. In 2010 Merv's health declined and continues to do so.  Just because I can't remember saying, "for better or for worse, in sickness and in health," during our marriage vows I am under the impression I did. There were witnesses! During the rocky times in our marriage and there were many, we both knew this time would happen.  Like death you are never prepared, you take it one day at a time. The good with the bad. Always looking for something to smile about. Merv didn't ask for Huntington's Disease. Would he do the same for me? I am sure he would.